Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 53725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
“Alana.”
I blink my mother into view. “Nothing.”
Her expression softens. “You’re upset that he isn’t here. He leaves for Yale today. You know his parents want every moment with him.”
Because his father hates him, I think, but probably wants to lecture him about living up to the West name. His mother is another story. I’m not sure how someone so nice is with someone as cruel as Damion’s father. “You’ll be right there with him at Yale in six months, honey. His birthday just fell at the right time to put him ahead of you.”
“I know,” I say, but in my mind, six months feels like forever and truly, he’ll probably forget me by then.
“Why don’t you take him the pancakes?” she suggests.
“I thought you didn’t like Damion?”
“He’s a player and at such a young age. It’s hard to see you so hung up on him when I know he’ll hurt you.”
“He’s not going to hurt me. We’re friends.”
“Who you’re going to marry?”
I roll my eyes. “I was seven when I said that. Can you please let it go?”
The doorbell rings, and my heart goes nuts, fluttering as wildly as branches in a storm. My mother pats the counter. “It’s him. Go, say goodbye.” She pauses. “For now. You’ll see him in six months.”
Or not, I think. Out of sight, out of mind.
The doorbell rings again.
“Go,” my mother urges.
She’s being ridiculously supportive after how negative she’s been about Damion. I nod and slide off the stool, heading for the front door. I peer out of the window and sure enough, Damion’s on my doorstep. Butterflies swim wildly in my belly, and I open the door. He stands there, ridiculously good-looking, with his tousled dark brown hair, his perfect body and handsome face, and grins at me. His grin is perfect too. I’ve heard the good-looking high school boys never become the hot guys of adulthood. I find that hard to believe with Damion.
“You’re leaving?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says. “My parents want to leave now to have time to check things out. They have a chopper waiting.”
Of course. Because we might be next door neighbors, but a few years back, his family hit the money train. Not that we’re hurting. This is a high-end area, and my parents do well. Just not money train well. Sometimes I’m not even sure we belong here.
“It feels weird leaving,” he says.
“Yeah,” I say, afraid if I expand beyond confirmation I’ll cry.
He holds out his arms. “Come here.”
I sway in his direction, and he’s already in front of me, enclosing me in his strong arms and molding me close, the delicious scent I can only call “The Damion.” It’s earthy and rich and wonderful, and then to my utter shock, his hand cups my face. “I have to do this,” he says, and his mouth closes down on mine, a long lick of his tongue curling my toes. Oh my God. I’ve waited for this for so long. I sink into the kiss and hold onto him, drowning in a lifetime of wanting him, and finally having him.
I’m still swimming in the moment when his lips part from mine. “That’s what boys are supposed to do to girls, right?” he teases, referencing our closet kiss when we were seven.
I laugh. “At least I didn’t have gum in my mouth.”
“No, you taste like chocolate pancakes.”
I laugh again, feeling every bit a schoolgirl with a hot crush realized. “What happened to Cara?”
“We’re never going to work long distance.”
“How’d she take the break-up?”
“Oh, I didn’t break up with her. That’ll just happen.”
Reality hits me hard and fast, and I shove away from him. “You kissed me and you’re still with her?”
“Oh, come on Alana. You and I are not like me and her.”
“Oh my God. How did I not know what an ass you are?”
“Are you serious? I’m your best friend, Alana.”
“No, you’re not. You would not have kissed me while committed to someone else if that were the case. Go to college, Damion. I hope you grow up there, I really do.” With that, I turn for the door.
He catches my arm. “Don’t do this. I don’t want us to be like this.”
“It’s too late. Now I know the real you.” I jerk my arm from his and shove the cracked door open, slamming it behind me. That’s all it takes for me to burst into tears, hit the wall with my back, and slide downward until I’m on the floor.
Almost immediately, my mother is in front of me, squatting at eye level. “What just happened?”
“You were right about him,” I sob. “He’s not who I thought he was.” I fling my arms around her.
She hugs me and whispers, “He’s young honey. You’re both young.”
But she’s wrong. I would never do what he just did to someone and we’re the same age.